A Return, Fish and Chips, and a Soap Opera
by vanillaparchment
Summary: Harry, Ron, and Hermione have lunch... eventually. Slight Harry/Hermione. This is my first fic, so reviews and constructive criticism are much appreciated!


Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own anything but the plot. If I did own Harry Potter, you'd be picking up _drastically_ different versions of Books 6 and 7. Anyway...

A/N: I made a few revisions-- hopefully it'll make the plot a bit clearer!

How long had it been? Harry hunched hastily back down under his menu as she passed, his nose suddenly twitching as it caught the faint scent of vanilla she had unintentionally wafted his way as she settled in the booth behind him. He squinted awkwardly at the beverage menu, pretending to be intent on ordering, though by the way he was staring at it, people certainly must have thought he had some sort of reading disability, or else that he needed new glasses.

"Honestly. I don't know _why_ I put up with you."

It wasn't that she spoke above a whisper. Harry just happened to pick up her voice like Nifflers picked up gold.

"That's why you love me."

Why did it have to be a _male_ voice? There was something vaguely familiar about the second voice, but Harry was too busy grinding his teeth to hear it properly.

"Git." she said, though rather affectionately. _Too_ affectionately.

"I just want fish and chips, Hermione. Would it kill you to let me have _good_ food for once?"

"No, it wouldn't kill me-- it would kill you." she retorted, "Why don't you look at the salads? They don't _all_ taste like the ones Ginny tried to make."

"That 'salad' nearly killed me!"

"Which is why you should have let Ginny eat it." Hermione muttered darkly, and the man sharing the booth with her (Harry refused to think of him as her date) snorted with laughter.

"You're still not getting along with her? Come on, she can't be _that_ bad. I think."

"Oh, she's good enough." Hermione admitted grudgingly. "After all, she is a Weasley, and most of those are all right."

"You flatter me."

"_Ron."_

At her simple, annoyed utterance, Harry had let out a huge breath of air that he had unconsciously managed to hold for the last few minutes. There was a long silence.

"Ginny's right, though. You really should get out more." Ron sounded rather serious, which was a bad sign. "Hermione..."

"Don't you start." she said bitterly, cutting across him. "Blind dates and ballrooms won't do anything for me."

"But Hermione, it's been _three_ years without any word from him. I mean, he disappeared with only a note to let us know that he had gone off to kill those last few Death-Eaters." Ron said, sounding unusually gentle. "Don't you think...?

"I don't care, Ron." Hermione said flatly, "I don't need a boyfriend any more than you do. I just-- I just..."

The leather of the booth squeaked as Harry waited with baited breath, his menu still clutched in his rather shaky hands.

"I want my best friend back." she whispered miserably.

Ron sighed.

"I know at least _one_ best mate's going to be here for you." he said sincerely.

"Thanks, Ron." Hermione said gratefully after a while. "I know you will be."

"Can I take your order?" Harry started, so violently that he tumbled out of his chair.

He fell right in front of the booth where his two best mates were sitting. Of course, as if luck would have him look even more stupid, his menu landed like a plastic tent over his face.

"Blimey." said Ron, somewhere past the foul-smelling menu that Harry refused to take off his face. "Is that bloke all right?"

"Perhaps he hit his head." Hermione suggested worriedly, and before Harry could do anything, she was kneeling beside him and whipping the menu off his face.

Harry stared stupidly into his best friend's familiar brown eyes.

"Oh!"

Hermione let out a stunned little gasp as she stared in disbelief down at Harry's face.

"Good Merlin!" Ron puffed, clutching his chest in a way that no twenty-year-old should and falling back onto the booth. "You're right, Hermione-- fish and chips have done it in for me..."

Harry opened his mouth, as if to speak, but no noise seemed capable of leaving his flopping jaw.

She seemed to be in the same predicament as she ran her tongue across her pink lower lip.

Finally, after a long time, the annoyed waitress snapped, "If you're not going to the ER, would you please stand up and let me get through?"

This broke through Harry's buzzing brain and forced him to his feet.

"Erm..." he said, awkwardly shuffling his feet (he ignored the waitress who had haughtily pushed past him), "Here."

He grasped Hermione's wrist with his hand and helped her up.

She appeared to come to herself right then-- and most unfortunately, Hermione's self appeared to be very, very angry.

"You complete_ prat!"_

Harry felt something very soft and very strong collide with his chest. He scrabbled for breath as the wind scurried out of his lungs, desperate to avoid the wrath that was Hermione. She had crashed into him with all the force she could muster.

"Three years!" she accused in something comparable to the shriek of the screaming Banshee. "_Three!"_

Harry sent a desperate look toward Ron, who was cowering behind Harry's discarded menu and avoiding his gaze.

"I know, 'Mione--"

"Don't call me that!" she growled, hitting him with her (fortunately small) fists. "Don't you _dare_ act as if nothing's happened!"

Harry found himself momentarily forgetting that he, at six foot one, towered over Hermione's five four, and hastily backed away from her. Her eyes were flashing dangerously bright as she advanced on him.

"I spent _two_ of those _three_ years looking for you!" she hissed at him through locked teeth. "By the third year--- people told me--"

She shot Ron a searing look. Ron's ears flamed from behind the menu.

"People told me you were dead!" she said furiously. "And you didn't give me any reason to disbelieve them, did you? No!"

"I know, I'm sorry!" said Harry, scrambling around the side of the table he had run into. At least there was a table between them now. "I didn't mean to--"

"All I knew was that you'd gone off to get _revenge_ on the people who tried to kill you!" Hermione said, putting mocking emphasis on the word _revenge_. "I thought you were done with chasing down insane murderers, Harry--"

"Come off it, Hermione!" Harry said desperately, as she advanced on him again, her hand inside her sweater, where Harry knew her wand rested. "I came back!"

"Is this some sort of _joke_ between the two of you?" Hermione demanded, throwing her hands in the air. "Let's leave our other best friend behind to see how desperate she can really get, then come back and expect everything to be normal!" Ron cringed, smiling feebly at the people who seemed to prefer this soap opera to the one on the TV.

"Don't be stupid!" Harry said angrily, "Of course not!"

"Oh, believe me," Hermione's eyes were blazing and narrow, "I'm _far_ beyond stupid."

"You really think I'd want to hurt you?"

A long silence ensued. All eyes were fixed on Harry and Hermione, and the plastic table that was the only thing keeping them apart. Hermione's fingers were curling and uncurling on the table.

"Hermione," he said tentatively. "Answer me?"

She drew in a breath, looking around aimlessly and twisting her hands at her waist.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't." she answered finally, dropping her gaze. Another silence ensued.

Then she looked up, tears poised dangerously on her eyelashes.

"Why did you do it?"

"It doesn't matter." Harry said evasively, reaching across the table and patting her shoulder. "I'm back now."

"But things can't be like they were, Harry." Hermione's voice cracked a bit. "It's been three years."

"So we stopped being best friends, then?" Harry persisted.

She went quite still, her eyes fixed on his face.

"I hope not." she choked, and before Harry could say anything else, Hermione had dashed around the table and buried her face in his neck, arms around his waist.

Her warm tears spilled down his neck as she sobbed. Harry wrapped his arms around her and tentatively rested his chin in her unruly brown hair.

They stood like that for quite some time, Hermione's fingers clutching at Harry's T-Shirt as if she was afraid he was going to disappear again.

"It's okay." Harry ventured to whisper in her ear, his breath causing a few of her curls to flutter by her tear-streaked cheek. "I'm back now."

She only clutched at him more tightly.

"Hermione, it's all right." Harry assured her, acutely aware of how snugly she was clasped against him. "I'm not going to leave. I promise."

She let out a watery laugh and relaxed her hold around his waist, looking up with her red-rimmed eyes, now bright with her shaky smile

"Well, as long as you two are going to be here," Ron said, breaking the silence, "I'm going to eat lunch."

"Idiot." Hermione mumbled into Harry's shirt. Harry grinned, and a laugh rumbled from his chest and escaped his mouth. He tugged at her hand, and they slid into the booth.

"Thank you, thank you!" Ron said, standing and bowing to the restaurant's applauding customers, "That's all for this week! Come back for next week's episo-- ouch!"

"Sit down, Weasley, and order your artery-clogging fish and chips!"


End file.
